


Like I'm Gonna Lose You

by This_is_where_i_shame_post



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Angst, Broken Bones, Canon Compliant, David is being stubborn, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, I Tried, M/M, Traumatic Injury, Whump, accidents around the home, concussion, mention of david's family, mention of patrick's family, mention of roland, probable OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28028886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/This_is_where_i_shame_post/pseuds/This_is_where_i_shame_post
Summary: David is insistent on putting up the Christmas lights at the cottage himself for some unfathomable reason, and Patrick just wants to hire someone and spend a snowy day snuggled up in their cottage, but when an accident happens, Patrick is forced to consider life without his Husband.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer & Stevie Budd, Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Stevie Budd & David Rose
Comments: 6
Kudos: 75
Collections: Schitt's Creek Holiday Festive Fic Swap 2020





	Like I'm Gonna Lose You

**Author's Note:**

> I am not a fan of Schitt's Creek. I wrote this after binging David/Patrick-centric episodes as a favor to a friend when someone dropped out of a fic exchange. 
> 
> Point_of_no_return helped me with the parts for Stevie, and with editing my atrocious grammar and spelling. They also made me the banner down there, and answered my 8,000 questions about the characters and their interests, possible behaviors. Thanks so much love!
> 
> I really hope that I did the characters justice for those who love this show though. Happy Holidays everyone!

David is at it again with his over-the-top shenanigans. How many strings of lights does one cottage actually need? If the vague gestures and unintelligible lack of actual description are anything to go by, its a lot. 

It is always this way with David’s grand visions, and they are almost always wonderful once they reach fruition. Just look at the Rose Apothecary, and how well it has done. Patrick is sure that these lights will be the same. 

If only he could convince David to use a professional to make his vision real. They have been going around and around about this, and David is insistent that he has to do it himself for it to be done correctly. 

In the end, David wins, as he so often does. He is even now to be heard clomping around on the roof, the fresh snow that had fallen the night before doing little to muffle his enthusiasm. 

To reward David’s hard work, Patrick has a pot of Marcy’s renown Minestrone going. When it is ready in about thirty more minutes, he is going to make sure that David takes the time to get warm. David generally doesn’t _DO_ manual labor, but for some reason, he is being stubborn about this. 

Patrick is proud, really, but his plan is to spend the time during lunch bringing David around to the idea of spending the day in with him while some poor schmuck they pay has to brave the cold and wet. 

Patrick calls up toward the roof and lets out a sigh of relief as he hears a solitary exclamation of _“Fuck”_ from somewhere above. At least David hasn’t frozen to death or managed to strangle himself in a strange combination of strings of lights and oversized, impractical sweater. 

David makes his way down the ladder that leans against the gutter. Patrick’s mind is boggling at the sight of David in some sort of maintenance man cosplay outfit. _David. Would. Never._ And yet here he is. 

The two of them make their way into the kitchen and Patrick dishes up soup as David washes up. It’s like being in an alternate universe, with bizarro David, but Patrick feels a little better as he listens to complaints of dirt under nails and in the creases of his knuckles. 

The two sit at the table in their cozy kitchen, eating quietly as Patrick tries to figure out how best to approach his mission of swaying David to his side. 

“How’s it going up there?” he decides that this is a safe start, a chance to let David work up some steam, and complain a little bit. 

There is a lot of eye rolling, and more of those hand gestures that David seems incapable of suppressing. He rants about tangled strands of lights, and inconveniently placed outlets. He pontificates on how certain colors of extension cord will clash with his vision. 

David holds forth on the subject for so long that the minestrone Patrick so lovingly made is stone cold and unappetizing by the time David stops long enough for him to interject. 

“If only there were people who did this _professionally_.” Patrick says, raising an eyebrow at David. “Then we could pay one of them to handle this, and you wouldn’t have to deal with it.” David is fluent in snark, and Patrick is hoping that utilizing it will help him get through to him. 

David does not, however, take the bait. He instead stiffens, his posture straightening even more than usual. His eyes narrow, and Patrick absolutely said the wrong thing. 

“You don’t think I can do this.” David says. It is not a question, and the hurt and anger in his expression is a slap to the face. “I’ve got to get back to work. Thanks for the soup.”   
  
He stands quickly, the legs of his chair squealing loudly against the wood floor, and stalks back outside. 

Patrick is left sitting at the table alone, his only company, David’s untouched bowl of minestrone. 

Patrick decides to give David his space. He still hears him clomping around up on the roof, slightly louder than before if he is honest. 

He tries to read. He has been working on Thomas Erikson’s book on business communication “Surrounded by Idiots”, and he is really hoping to be able to make some good headway while he lets David literally cool off. 

His attempts have thus far been unsuccessful, and he is getting frustrated at his inability to focus. He sits at his computer to try and get some work done, and after another hour, he has not done much more than stare at a blinking cursor on the screen. 

It is only when he gives up entirely, and sits back in his computer chair, scrubbing his hands over his face, that he notices the distinct lack of boot thumps above him. It is silent, and there is no such thing as quiet in a home that contains David Rose. 

Wasting no time at all, Patrick makes his way quickly through the house, flings the door open, and goes outside to check on him, not even bothering to put on his shoes. 

He calls out to David, and receiving no answer, he starts to make his way around the cottage. It is still too quiet, too still, and Patrick knows that something is terribly wrong. 

When he gets to the side of the house, he sees David laying on the ground. His arm is bent at an un-natural angle, and his eyes are closed. Patrick can’t breathe through the panic that is rising in his chest. 

He shakes his head to clear it; now is not the time to let himself give in to those kinds of feelings. He rushes over to David, whipping out his phone and dialing 911. 

He places his hand at David’s pulse point, and he can’t feel anything, but when he leans down to place his head on David’s chest, he hears a heartbeat that assures him that he just wasn’t doing it correctly. 

He is calm and methodical as he explains to the dispatcher what has happened and gives the address. There is no need for CPR as David is breathing. This doesn’t change the fact that David isn’t waking up. 

The dispatcher is very kind and using a steady neutral tone with him as she waits on the line with him for 25 minutes, until he hears the whine of the sirens of the ambulance that has been sent from Elmdale. 

He hears the silence that comes with the other person having hung up after telling the dispatcher that the ambulance was there, and he is like a marionette with its strings cut as a flurry of activity erupts around him. 

His arms hang limp at his sides as the paramedics take his husband’s vitals. He can’t even hear his own voice as he automatically answers the questions they are throwing at him, and when he is climbing into the back of the ambulance for the ride to the hospital in Elmdale, all he can hear is the blood pounding in his ears as he tries not to imagine his life if the worst should happen. 

It has been hours of testing, scans, and doctors. To Patrick, it may as well have been days, but somehow it is only two in the morning. It is dark, and as quiet as a hospital can get, and David is still not awake.   


Patrick is sitting in an uncomfortable, straight-backed chair, grasping David’s hand. 

“David,” he whispers, trying not to lose his cool. “It’s Patrick. I’m here, David.” He strokes the back of David’s hand and then kisses it, shuddering at the stillness and silence of his husband’s form. 

. He attempts to keep his composure while loving on him, willing _any_ sign of comprehension to grace his gorgeous face. 

“I’ll be here with you, sweetheart. I’m not leaving.” Patrick takes a long breath in and out, listening to the beeps from the monitors, the hiss of the oxygen tubes in his nose, and the sound of David’s breath, all of which are reassuring him that David is still here with him. 

He looks around the room unable to believe that they are here right now, but he has to get those thoughts out of his head and focus on his husband. “You’re the love of my life, David. I said it on the hike and it’s just as true here and now. 

Knowing they both need their rest, Patrick sits back, still stroking David’s hand, and it is still so soft and smooth in his. He makes a mental note to bring some of their Bergamot scented hand moisturizer from the store to keep David’s hands smooth and perfect, knowing how much David would grumpily protest if Patrick let a simple thing like that be forgotten. It also doesn’t hurt that it makes David smell intoxicating and less like a patient. 

He closes his eyes and hums their song. By the time he gets to the chorus, he feels a little jolt from the hand he’s holding. Hope shoots through him like a lightning-rod and Patrick opens his eyes, instantly regretting getting his hopes stirred-up so quickly. Patrick closes his eyes again and keeps humming loud enough for David to hear. He _hopes_ he can hear. 

Later, after a nap and a few nurses have checked David’s vitals, Patrick rubs the sleep out of his eyes and turns his focus on David. “Ever since you came barreling into my life with your grand plans that you can’t put into words, and your witty sarcasm, my life has been so full.” Patrick says softly, leaning forward once more to press his forehead to David’s wrist. “I’m not ready for it to be empty again. Come back to me, David, _please.” I need you,_ he thinks, kissing his hand. “I can’t do this without you.” 

_“_ And here I thought I was the dramatic one.” He hears David’s groggy, raspy from above his head, and he nearly gives himself whiplash from how quickly his head shoots up so that he can look his husband in the eyes. 

“David,” he says, like it’s a prayer answered. “Wha- Um- I- I'm so glad you are okay.” he says, voice breaking slightly around the unshed tears that are now of joy instead of abject heartbreak. 

He presses the button to call the nurses and let them know that David is awake as he leans over to pepper David gently with kisses. 

After the nurses have checked David over, Patrick manages to calm the hysterics of both of their mothers and keep them from descending upon the hospital. Alexis is concerned for her brother, but she has way too much going on in New York to be able to get away right now. 

The next morning, Stevie comes up and visits with David. She is not exactly happy she heard the news from Roland first and not from Patrick, in that the three of them are all best friends, but as soon as she sees how tired Patrick looks, her temper lessens and she’s able to revel in the relief that her closest friend is awake and within minutes, she’s able to tease David about having to eat hospital food.   
  
Some orderlies come to the room to change the sheets on David’s bed and hel him get to the bathroom, as he hi still a bit unsteady on his feet. 

Patrick and Stevie are suddenly alone in the hallway. 

“Listen, I’m really sorry for not calling as soon as the accident happened,” he starts to say.   
  
“Hey,” Stevie interrupts. “It’s okay. I mean it’s not ideal and Roland made it sound worse than it was, but I understand. Your focus was on David and nothing else.”   
  
“Yeah, thank you Stevie.” Patrick looks into her eyes solemnly and then seconds later feels a rush of pain to his arm. “Hey! What was-”   
  
“ _Never_ do that again, Brewer! That’s my brother in there!” Stevie says seriously. “You’re _both_ my brothers, get that?”   
  
Shock must be all over his face because the next thing that happens is Stevie smiling big at him and then hugging him tightly. “I don’t know what I would do if I ever lost you guys.” She hits Patrick in the arm for extra measure when they pull apart and Patrick understands this is how she shows she cares so much. 

After all that chaos, and a long, frequently interrupted sleep for David, it is time to talk about what the hell happened. 

David explains that he was still mad about what Patrick had said at lunch, and he wasn’t paying attention to how cold it had gotten. He had slipped on a patch of ice and fallen off the roof. David is babying his broken arm as he talks and it’s strange to see him talking without using his hands. 

“But why were you so hellbent on doing this yourself?” Patrick asks, trying to keep his voice low, as David still has a throbbing headache from the concussion. 

David sighs, not meeting Patrick’s eyes as he says, “I was telling Roland about my ideas for our lights and asking who I should hire to put them up.” He is fiddling with the opening of his cast, and still refusing eye contact, “He said that...,” he winces as he tries to do air quotes with his injured arm, “it figured that I would need to hire someone, and I wouldn’t be _capable_ of figuring it out for myself anyways.” David looks down and absently fiddles with the sheet. “He then said that I’m not like my dad and that I’m too delicate.” 

Patrick is absolutely flabbergasted at this revelation, “Roland!” Patrick shouts, and when David winces at the noise level he lowers his voice again, “He still calls you Dave. Why would you feel the need to prove something to Roland of all people?” 

“Ugh. I know. Don’t remind me.” David groans as he leans his head back against the pillows he is propped up against. “Temporary insanity.” 

Patrick laughs a bit, “Next time, can we please skip the DIY and just hire someone?” He says, sitting on a space by David’s legs at the end of the bed. 

“Absolutely.” David says emphatically, “have I mentioned that I don’t _do_ manual labor?” He smiles cheekily at Patrick. 

A few days later, when David has been given the all-clear, they don’t get to leave until nearly in the evening and it is already dark, but they stop at Café Tropical to celebrate the end of hospital food. Stevie joins them, and it is a pretty good time, even if Patrick is keeping a closer eye than normal on David. 

When they are finished, they drive back out to the cottage. It is snowing lightly, and they are going a bit slower than usual to be safe. Patrick doesn’t want to add a car accident to David’s list of recent near-death experiences, and as they pull up to their home, it is aglow with glittering lights. 

“I hired some guys to get it done before you came home.” He steps out of the car, and walks around to the passenger side, wrapping his arms around David’s waist as soon as he is out of the vehicle. 

“It’s exactly like I pictured it.” David says before kissing Patrick. The snow falls around them, and the lights gleam, and both of them know that he isn’t just talking about the lights. 


End file.
